Glamorous
by eliska
Summary: Because sometimes we can't keep everything together, and the past just has to fade. Oneshot. Token/Bebe. Rated for language.


…Hot damn, I'm the only one to write this pairing? There must be something wrong with me. I hope not, though.

Don't be fooled by the title. It's not some sappy teenage romance shit. I think.

Disclaimer: On profile.

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_Glamorous._

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_

When we _sparkle_, sometimes that _sparkle_ doesn't run through our **veins**.

.x.

She breathed in deeply and exhaled, the cloudy darkness of smoke surrounding her head. The silhouettes of people moved in and out, chattering without a care in the world; she'd been watching them from the balcony for ages. Outside on the platform soft lights were shining, and the humming of some kind of machinery from far off trailed through the night. Nobody knew where she was. Nobody would care.

She took another drag.

Bebe had almost forgotten how much she'd hated cigarettes, but that didn't matter now. It had been a fucked-up mess of a day so far, with the guests running amok in the garden and her boyfriend entertaining his guy friends by the poolside. The maids hardly paid any attention to her, much less Token's parents. They probably thought she was fucking their son in one of the twenty-plus bedrooms again; a thought that, she smiled wryly, certainly had some reason to it. But not this time. Not yet.

A light fell upon her, and the blonde looked up to see that the clouds had pretty much cleared up, leaving the pale, almost translucent moon. The color of her hair. She snorted, flicked the cigarette away and entered her room, the marble floor beneath her bare feet cold and slick. (She'd hated those weird-smelling Escada slippers the maid had given her.) Admittedly, there wasn't anything wrong with that, yet there was a feeling, a sense of preeminent confusion around the place. She wanted to fall asleep.

"Hey, baby?" Startled, she looked up to see Token sauntering over; the sight almost caused her to burst out in laughter. He'd never gotten the hang of the stance that she'd loved when she was in high school, and still liked to see every now and then. Quite embarrassed by the look on her face, he sat down beside her on the bed; the softness was almost overwhelming for Bebe, who'd still hadn't gotten used to the luxury. Who'd known? "Still haven't quit yet?"

"I never was addicted, Token." It bothered her that every time he walked in on her, he'd caught her with either a smoke in hand or smelled the lingering musky perfume of it. It wasn't as though she liked it; there was just no stopping once she'd begun. And she hated it. "Quite the contrary. And I never see _you_ without one of those needle things in your hand."

Token shrugged. "Not mine. Clyde's been all soaked up recently. I'm just, well, being a friend."

"By giving him a death sentence?"

"If that's what he wants." Silence. "No, silly. I was hiding them from him. Fucking misery business. He just came over to ask for them again."

"And…"

"And nothing. You hungry? I've made the rest of them go away, and there's still some strawberry parfait down in the kitchens, I think. Or I could just go tell the cooks to whip up something else, if you like…"

Bebe looked down at her stomach. There was the tiniest bump showing on the normally level flesh, and that she did not like at all. "I'm fat. And no."

"You're not," Token sighed, the slightest tingle of exasperation in his voice, and kissed her on the forehead. "I guess it's now back to basics, eh? You sure you don't want anything? 'Cause I'm gonna go take a bath now, and—"

"Yeah. Sorry." She arched back and stretched on the bed as Token opened the door and, briefly, looked at her with a slight smile. He left, and left her to her own swirling world of confusion and brevity and smiles and tears. She was lost, and she smiled in the darkness.

There was a thin strip of moonlight coming in through the balcony and its billowing ivory-white curtains; once it crossed the room, it ran athwart her calf to her abdomen, swaying in fickle motion as the translucent curtains heaved and pulled. She was tired, too tired to move, and the sparkling diamonds on her Tiffany leg bracelet reflected off her weary face. Soft music was playing outside in the courtyard; 'Clair de Lune,' she guessed. A small smile played on Bebe's lips, as she knew she would never get the bubblegum pop music she loved in her younger days at this house. Nor would Token's parents tolerate her wild-child ways any longer, in that perspective. He gave her what she wanted, but in small doses, behind opaque drapery. It sustained her, kept her hanging on… but it was always never quite enough.

She missed those days.

She missed talking to Wendy over the phone on weekdays, and could almost hear their high-pitched, girlish giggles over boys and makeup again. There was a time when they refused to speak to each other because they argued over who should wear the pink dress they co-bought to the sophomore dance; Bebe saw it in her mind, _heard_ herself yelling over the phone how the other girl was a total bitch for not giving in. It was ironic, come to think of it, when both of them showed up the next day bleary-eyed, both with a newly-bought dress under their arms (the original one was at Wendy's grandma's house.) They'd taken one look at each other and laughed their heads off right in the hallway with the whole of the student body staring at them as if they'd lost their heads.

(Wendy was in Harvard now, working for her Masters degree in law school. Bebe had known she'd leave her behind someday, in some way. The blonde didn't hate her for pursuing her life's dreams, but sometimes she'd wished that things had turned out differently.)

She missed the times when she played around in school with all the guys, and when other girls called her a slut she'd laugh at them and say that's just how she rolls. In high school she'd never been an overachiever like the rest of her friends, but flowed along the river of student life, doing her work but never worrying about her scores or anything else. Her friends had often teased her about being sloppy when she was not, but that never really bothered her as much as when guys would stare at her boobs and whistle.

She hated being seen as a slut. Hate, although as strong a word as any, did not even begin to encompass it. It was the sickness of their ways, in which people stereotyped and labeled and pointed; and because she was young and blonde they would naturally think of her as an airhead, nothing but a pretty vase. There had been times when Bebe thought she would just _scream_ profanities at those certain people

(Cartman)

and break down and cry. The truth was there for her, that she just enjoyed the boys' company, never anything more. All the pretty clothes and pretty cosmetics that were once part of her childhood and early teens had changed into something more during the later years, evolved, until now she barely touched them anymore. A girl can still be pretty, still be a girl, if only she knew how to take care of herself.

(And she was never sure.)

Token had everything she'd once envied and wanted. The childish dreams of fairytales and princesses had finally come true for Bebe when he'd asked her out at the end of junior year, and they'd went to great lengths to suppress the myriads of rumors that ran amok throughout the whole senior year. She couldn't say much about his parents, as they had from the start hated her for taking Wendy—a much better girl, in their opinion—'s place.

He had gone on and gotten accepted to Stanford, and she stayed on at his house, for some reason unwilling to leave even though she was also accepted. He'd taken it kindly, although a bit surprised; Bebe had guessed he was looking forward to being with her there, and felt increasingly guilty about it afterwards. Added on to the fact that he only came back during breaks, and his parents being assholes to her just added on to the everyday frustration she felt when he was not there.

(She felt herself slipping away.)

Bebe turned over on the bed, feeling the cold air rush through and on her from the cold outside. There had been better times, times when she was free; and all that was the past now. But was that all? Was this

(fucking mess)

better than nothing? She didn't know; didn't want to know, even. She should be having the time of her life, with a rich boyfriend who cared for her deeply

(deeply?)

and wasn't stuck-up or fucked up like the rest of them. She'd loved him as she'd love any other, but when she thought of Kyle and Clyde (and those unaccountable others) during her middle school days, something in her stomach tied into a knot.

Craving. Lusting. Feeling. _Wanting, and never so much as now. _Emotions and thoughts and things that shouldn't be there were running around screaming in her head. Too much, and much too late. But she didn't care now, because nothing mattered... and how was that going to be possible with her heart caught in her throat? There was confusion, but sometimes confusion is better than what is hidden beneath the veil on the other side.

Her green eyes blinked, and the curtains rustled.

_Maybe tomorrow_, she thought. _Maybe I'll go outside and do something. Token's been begging to take me sledding for ages._

_Maybe I'll try to live. Tomorrow._

…_and you watch me as I stall,_

…_and wonder when I fall._

Fin.

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I hope it wasn't like, really messed up or anything ._. I'm kinda scared of experimenting, hehe.

Anyways, read and review! Honest criticism is always appreciated :)


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